


There is some Melancholy to this Madness

by Brink (PaperLillyWebs)



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: #Nick deserved better, Herzog knows, I don't mention Wilson basically at all because let me have happy gays alright, M/M, Nick is so in love it's gross, alternative ending, hinted autistic Gatsby, i don't know what this is okay, the movie was just so pretty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 18:32:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9838223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperLillyWebs/pseuds/Brink
Summary: Daisy won't call. Nick knows she won't call.





	

  Nick leaves his shoes at the edge of the pool.

  Gatsby had called for two bathing suits, but Nick had turned it down, and now sits with his feet in the water, watching Gatsby swim laps. The morning is turning warm, but not warm enough to keep the goosebumps from Nick’s arms; he can almost taste autumn on the breeze.

  Gatsby doesn’t seem to care, or maybe he doesn’t notice: his eyes are distant as he swims, only ever looking up to glance at the phone set on the nearest table.

  Daisy won’t call. Nick knows she won’t call.

  He almost feels he should tell Gatsby this, but something stills his tongue. Maybe it’s that all Gatsby has ever had is hope, hope for Daisy, and Nick fears this last straw will break him. Or maybe Nick feels guilty for getting involved in the first place; if it weren’t for him, Daisy and Gatsby might have never met again.

  Gatsby’s movements in the pool splashes water up Nick’s pantleg, and he almost moves to roll them further up. He doesn’t, though, just watches his friend in a resigned sort of misery.

  Herzog brings a tray of drinks, sets them down next to the phone, but neither Gatsby nor Nick rise to them. Herzog bows his head once and leaves again.

  “Jay...” Nick starts, not even quite sure if he has anything to say. Gatsby ignores him, pushing his feet off the pool wall to start another lap. Nick sighs and pushes back his wilting hair; a sleepless night of constantly running his fingers through it, and the gel is all but gone.

  The breeze picks up again, scattering the first leaves of fall, and shivers run up Nick’s spine. It must be almost noon, from the position of the sun, but it does not feel like it will be getting much warmer.

  Gatsby breaks the surface at the far end of the pool, looking straight at the phone as if he’s heard some phantom ring. He treads water for a long minute, before his jaw clenches. He nods to himself, like he’s decided something, and looks instead to Nick.

  Nick raises an eyebrow, and something in Gatsby’s gaze softens. He shakes his head and swims to Nick in a few, easy strokes. With a grunt, he pulls himself up onto the edge next to him, and brushes aside his bangs in that Gatsby-like way that makes Nick smile.

  There’s a beat of silence, and then— “She isn’t going to call, is she.”

  Nick’s heart sinks. “No, Jay.”

  “She’s leaving, with Tom?”

  “Yes, Jay.”

  Gatsby nods again, and then... smiles. Lets out a breath like some heavy weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He leans his elbows onto his knees and rubs his hands over his face, and Nick, for a short, panicked moment, thinks he is going to cry, but then Gatsby laughs.

  Nick frowns and tentatively puts a hand on his shoulder. “Jay?”

  Gatsby raises his head again, smiling wider than Nick has ever seen him smile, even when Daisy was running through the halls in nothing but Gatsby’s shirt.

  “I’m sorry, Old Sport. I haven’t been the most gracious host, have I?”

  “Are you alright?” Nick asks, frown deepening.

  “I’ll have Herzog call for lunch; we haven’t eaten since yesterday. Something simple. Sandwiches?” Gatsby hefts himself up to his feet and trots over to the table, not even looking at the phone as he grabs the martini glasses and brings them back to Nick. He hands his stunned companion one, and waves Herzog in from the entryway. “Will you have the chef make us some sandwiches?”

  “You fired the chef, sir,” Herzog reminds him blandly, and Gatsby waves his hand.

  “Then you go make them. I’ll hire a new one in the morning.” Gatsby sits back down as Herzog bows away.

  “Jay, are you really alright?” Nick asks again, putting a hand on Gatsby’s arm to keep his attention.

  Gatsby looks at him, and smiles that smile that, sometimes, Nick thinks is only for him. “I’m wonderful, Old Sport.”

  “Are you, now?” Nick eyes him skeptically.

  “You know, I thought I would be sad,” Gatsby admits, as if he hadn’t heard him, “when she wouldn’t call. I think I knew she wouldn’t, not after last night.”

  Staring at him in confusion, Nick tries to catch up to this sudden change in Gatsby; this isn’t the Gatsby that pined after the same woman for five years and was an accessory to murder just the night before.

  But then, Gatsby’s never done anything half way. Falling out of love with Daisy would not be a slow process, and Nick can’t think why he ever thought it would be.

  “And it does feel as if something has been torn from me,” Gatsby is continuing, staring out over the water to East Egg and not even seeing it, “and it hurts. More than it ever did during the war. She’s gone now, for certain this time. Distantly, I know this.” He takes a long sip from his drink. “But now, it almost feels as if... I can perhaps go back to who I was before this summer.”

  Nick tears his eyes from his friend, to the drink in his hand, and can’t bring himself to raise it to his lips. Gatsby before this summer was not friends with Nick Carraway, and perhaps only cared for his company when it meant somehow meeting Daisy again.

  “Sir,” Herzog says from the balcony, “your lunch is ready.”

  Gatsby drains his glass, and claps Nick on the shoulder. “Come on, Old Sport; I think there’s still some champagne leftover from July.”

  Nick looks at him, brows furrowed, and Gatsby pauses in his effort to get up.

  “You’re...” Nick starts, but doesn’t have anything to say now either.

  Gatsby smiles again, and if he hears Herzog scoff in the background, he shows no sign of it. “‘Can’t leave my only friend outside in the cold now, can I?”

  Nick takes his offered hand and lets himself be pulled to his feet. He leaves his shoes at the edge of the pool.

**Author's Note:**

> do do do what the fuck is this


End file.
